


Tommy's Party

by SummerhillWinterfield



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romance, Underage Drinking, childhood friends turned enemies turned lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:53:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28375740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SummerhillWinterfield/pseuds/SummerhillWinterfield
Summary: Highschool AU: George and Clay were childhood friends before a split at the beginning of freshman year. After reconnecting at a house party, will they be able to mend their broken relationship?TW heavily implied drug/alcohol use (not explicit), implied sexual content (also not explicit), all consensual, pinky promise
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 59





	Tommy's Party

**Author's Note:**

> Title and lyrics further down from the song "Tommy's Party" by Peach Pit, 10/10 would recommend for you to listen to, it was the vibe that inspired this fic :)

Tommy’s Party

The colors blur together as he spins around the makeshift dance floor, the world a swirl of bright flashes and lights. For once he understands the hues he cannot see, feels the passion of red and the deep pension of purple, the life of light green and the cheer of orange.

His girl tries to pull him down to her, to hold her and kiss her and make the same old promises that leave her full and him empty, her in love and him more lost in what he thinks are his emotions.

The colors set him aflame and he backs away from her, mind spinning with no thought but  _ away _ as he pushes through the fallen drunkards of teens and the wild madness of his classmates. Away from this still air, out of this forsaken basement-

“George?” A voice tears him from his drunken state and he spins, catching the glowing gaze of the one, his one. 

Heat rushes through his body, fast and sudden. His heart is pounding in his head, his conscience is a retired mess and at that moment, Clay looks like an immortal, an angel, a god. He loves Clay, George remembers, he loves his laugh and posture and smile and giggle and

he said something.

What did he say?

“Hello?” Oh right!

“Hello!” he swoons, nearly falling into his chest and looking into his eyes with a look of what he imagines to be pure adoration. Clay blushes.

“Okay buddy, let’s get you home. Where’s Maria?”

The world turns black.

“Yeah, you were quite the mess, back there. I’m sorry if I sort of ditched you with her, I just wanted to make sure you got home safe. Did your -”

“Parents find out? Yeah, but it’s fine,” George mutters, cheeks aflame and heart racing. He doesn’t want to be here, nearly pressed up against the hallway window at 1:30 pm on a Tuesday. Maybe he could accept this on a Monday, where he could just tune Clay out, or a Friday, where he could pretend he still had to go to the chess club. He wouldn’t know any better. It had been too long. Clay looks down at him worriedly and he’s brought back to all the times he’d cried on his shoulder, over the phone, in the locker rooms. But he'd missed a lot. George is no longer the sentimental fool he’d left behind to dry his own tears and start his own empty conversations. 

“Are you sure? You know, you can still tell-” 

“Yeah, it’s fine, I should go now. Bye!” George pushes past his arm and speeds away, ignoring the multitude of students who curiously watch him make his escape.

As he exits the school building, his phone dings.

<meet me at the front doors, 7?> -Marie

<Ofc, see you then> -georgie<3

<great, ily!!!> -Marie

George closes his phone and finishes his walk home.

  
  


“Be home at ten, darling, and don’t put your phone on silent! We need full contact with you at all times, miss a call and we’ll drive you home ourselves.” The monotonous voice of his dad will never be comforting, George thinks as he enters the shabby Ford he’d gotten for his 16th birthday.

“Have fun with your girlfriend! No funny business,” his mother winks. George rolls his eyes, knowing he’d be more likely to make out with anyone in the world over Marie. He could paint his room rainbow, wear a sequined vest to school and blast Bad Romance by Lady Gaga all day in his room and his parents would still expect him to work a nine to five with a pickup truck, a wife and a suburban home with three diaper children and a crusty white dog. But, no matter, George knows not to care about those sorts of things. Better to enjoy their ignorance and slight pride in their son then to bring upon himself a life of torment and abuse for his sexuality. Who cares, anyways? Not like anyone would ever look into him that way. He had Marie, and she was blind. Who needed more?

“Hey baby,” she swoons upon seeing him as he arrives at the front door, face streaked with bad makeup and forced smiles. With her friends all grouped around her and a token British boyfriend, George imagines her ego to be about the size of her father’s yacht, expensive and- 

He stops, guilt flooding his heart. He doesn’t actually dislike his girlfriend, and in another world where he possibly felt accepted, he could possibly have been her friend, a kind acquaintance. This version, however, feels unnatural, and he despises her and himself for it equally. 

The heat rushes to him and he needs a way out, an escape from pressures unseen. Where is this ideal universe? How does he find it? How can he escape the hell he’s found himself in this time?

He rejoins their group after a short detour to the bathroom, feeling himself again. What can it mean that he needs stardust to feel human? To feel complete? To feel capable?

The stage of the school auditorium lights slowly and the end of year talent show begins, Marie’s friends giggling together to his right. He feels a small weight on his shoulder and turns to see her blonde head rested on his oversized hoodie. Does she know? Doubt it.

Does he want her to?

Act by act, swing by swing, and he feels less and less himself, mind slipping away into the confused silence he prefers to ignore. It’s leaving him faster and faster, he needs more and more to get through the days.

Out of the corner of his eyes he sees a small group stand up and leave between acts, one whispering to another about “the outside performance”. He recognises one of the boys, leans forward and asks. 

“Behind the art studios, there’s a few rejected people who wanted to do something,” Punz, he thinks his name is. The boy glances to George’s entourage and then looks back at him. “This your crowd?”

“For the time being.”

“Come with?” 

“...Did you have to ask?”

It’s quieter outside, less flashes and production equipment. It's a minority George does not recognise, composed of people who look not quite one thing but not quite another. He supposes he could be classified as such. Special smoke wafts through the air and George longs for a sniff, a slight stimulation to return feeling to his sorry state.

A slight murmur ripples through the crowd and George recognises Clay’s shaggy hair peak over the top of the slight crowd. He carries a worn guitar case and a small smile, which sends shivers through George’s spine. Suddenly interested, he begins to walk forward towards the makeshift stage by where the easels would be as Clay begins to speak.

“Thank you all for coming out here,” a small chuckle runs through the teenagers, “I know, personally, the courage this takes, and I hope you all stay strong against the world out there, no matter what you find. I mainly set this up to allow some rejects from the main talent show to perform, so I’ll give them the attention they deserve. Enjoy!”

As Clay merges with the crowd a short freshman takes his place and begins to belt some Bruno Mars cover, confidence making up where talent lacks. A slight tap on George’s shoulder leads him to turn to face Clay himself, all 6 ft something of him. George’s face flushes under the proximity and he prays Clay doesn’t notice.

“I’m… kind of surprised to find you here, to be honest,” Clay chuckles, voice soft as to only be heard by him, “I thought you’d come with your girlfriend.”

George finds himself searching for any menace with his words, and comes up short, “Yeah, well, I uh…” His brain short circuits and he begins to regret his high for the first time in months. “I’m looking for a different scene, you could say.”

“You certainly found that here,” Clay murmurs, facing away from George but still lighting him on fire. He feels like there’s something he’s missing, but he stays quiet, opting to enjoy the peace while it’s given to him. 

In silence they watch the acts go by, mostly singing with a few monologues and sketches. He strangely feels at peace with Clay, forgoing his pride or their past, allowing himself to hope for a possible future. Slowly they inch together as the night passes, ending arm pressed to arm and resting against each other. As a short blonde exits the stage, there is a brief silence before Clay starts and hastily separates from George, headed towards the stage. George barely has time to feel hurt before his booming voice regains the crowd’s attention.

Under the school’s street lights he looks foreign, almost unfamiliar with his secondhand case cast to the side and a shiny guitar slung over his torso. George has known him long enough to see his hair grow from shiny platinum blonde to an all american dirty blond, his smile stretch through braces and retainers, his legs mend through all three times he broke them in grade school. He may be shrouded in darkness now, but there was a time where George thoughtClay was his, and he was Clay’s. He isn’t sure how that makes him feel. “Thank you to all who performed! I loved watching everyone, and I thank you all for showing up. To close the night, this is a song I wrote last week. I didn’t audition with it but I kind felt it would be a nice way to say goodbye to this last school year, especially to our seniors who we very much will miss. I call it, Tommy’s Party.”

The song begins with a soft acoustic introduction and George finds himself sinking into its subtle familiarity, it's quiet changes and soothing repetitiveness. “ _ Hey there bud, how’d it go last night/I saw you at the band looking pretty slammed... _ ”

The crowd begins to sit, quietly chatting and enjoying the performance. George finds himself next to (who he thinks is) Punz, who gives him a coy smirk before turning back towards Clay, who is now doing a smooth guitar solo. Confused, George looks back at Punz’s back, thoughts beginning to churn. He couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t piece it together, what could it mean, what could he be saying-

“ _ But I happened to see without even trying/How she laughed with you, just like I used to... _ ” 

He is almost singing a lullaby, not raw with emotion but tinged with melancholy and regret, as if recounting a story he hadn’t been fully present in. People around George finally come to a complete silence with it, slowly, he catches onto the lyrics. 

“ _ Though we didn’t talk much, how’d your evening go?/ You barely spoke a word to me besides that slurred hello, _ ” He lightly smiles, reminded of quiet house parties where he gets completely wasted with strangers, often waking up and forgetting what he’d done. The memories aren't entirely necessary to him anymore for him to recount his best times, he knows the only good parties are the ones with Clay, where he’d come to the next day with subtle glimpses of inebriated conversations with him. He knew he would seem crazy, self destructive, but George had fallen for the feeling he got when he was out of control, when he didn’t have to worry about constraints that no longer existed.

“ _ I was thinking back just the other day/Remember when we used to sneak out late to go and blaze _ ,” 

Wait…

“ _ Seemed like loneliness was all we’d ever do/Now she’s knowing you, just like I used to _ ,” George frowns, remembering when he and Clay had first discovered narcotics in early freshman year, afternoons spent in secondhand smoke and marijuana highs. They’d been a pair, a sure duo, before Clay had gotten sick. Sometimes George wonders how he would have ended up if it had been him, him to get caught and sent to rehab, him to have been the talk of the school. Oh well, he knows he is now. He knows quite well he’d lost his only friend in the haze of 9th grade, and that he was the school’s favorite crackhead. Clay had gotten out, George had gone down. That was how it went.

The pieces fall into place and he wants a hit. He wants away from this, away from Clay and his mind games, his straight teeth, his now scott free record, cloroxed down by his parent’s old money and his honors English persuasion. As the crowd stands to congratulate the performance, George tears away, checking his watch. 10:30.  _ Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuck _

He’s screwed. He knows it. They’ll take away his driving privileges, his phone, his curfew, his freetime. They’d done it all before - why would they stop now? He just needed more time...he could do it...he could get home and convince-

“George! What’s wrong? Why did you leave? Did I do somethi-” Clay is suddenly there, his hands on George’s arms, encasing him enclosing him

“NO! I need to go home, Clay!” George yells. “I don’t need you here anymore, I don’t want you around me! I just- don’t you understand? I don’t like you anymore!”

Clay goes silent, grip loosening in shock. His face is impassive.

“...I’m sorry, George, I’ll leave you alone.”

George stands there, stunned. His voice had been so canned, so weighted with confusion and disappointment. His face is closed off, he’s walking away...

“Wait.”

Clay half turns, face darkened by the shadows. George can’t read his expression.

They’re both silent, waiting for the other to cave, to speak up for the both of them. George breaks. “Could I… can I maybe stay at your place for a while?” he looks down, face on fire. His entire body feels electric with shame and he knows he looks weak, cowardly. 

“Of course,” Clay whispers, staring straight at George. George freezes, keeping his head faced downward until a hand gently nudges him to look up into Clay’s sunny face. Are their faces getting closer?

No, Clay is pulling away and fishing his car keys from his pocket. Until he offers his hand to George to hold as they traverse the parking lot. George now hears the crowd of students gathered at the front of the building, their chatter raising in volume now that the show had ended. His girlfriend raises to the front of his mind as he remembers how he left her at the auditorium, and wonders what she could possibly think of him right now. Nothing incriminating, right? He’d done nothing wrong.  _ But why does it matter? _ Does he want to keep her strung up while he pursues… whatever is going on with Clay? What happens now? 

Growing more and more bothered by questions he knows he cannot ask, he turns to look at Clay’s side profile as they sit beside each other in his father’s minivan... He remembers the first time Clay had taken him out and around in this white car, how they’d driven to the highest point in their battered up hometown and rolled their third blunt together, how they’d vowed to begin this tradition and continue it even when they became wrinkled and married. George had known, then, that he’d never seek a wife and children. He’d already been sure he’d end up alone in an apartment in Orlando, working as an electrician for some company he wouldn’t recognise at the supermarket, however the idea that Clay would somehow still be around had brightened his otherwise moody prospects of tomorrow. Clay had always been his starlight, and even when the clouds blocked his rays, George would still recall the warmth that he'd brought to his days.

The car ride is silent. Clay keeps his radio off and his conversation flat as he pulls up into the driveway of his 70s suburbia house with its blue painted panels and year-round christmas lights on, proud against the overcast night. As the car stills, the two sit silent, waiting for the other to make their move. He thinks he knows what Clay is looking for, but would rather their issues remain unsaid, dirty laundry left unwashed, drawers remain fully shut.

“You can stay in the basement, my brother moved out so I’m on my own for the time being,” Clay finally begins, eying George almost warily. Their earlier camaraderie has now given away to tense awkwardness, and this is not what George wants. He knows how Clay’s grin looks in the dark hours of the morning and how his laugh sounds raspy right before he falls asleep. He wants to cry, feeling their hesitance like brands against his lips.

“Can you stay with me?” The thought of being alone is somehow worse than being with him, so he caves and asks.

Clay stares at him, surprise written over his freckled face. “Yeah, uh… yeah I’ll set it up.”

He’s in pain, his pocket weighs him down as he thinks about how to numb these fiery emotions, these unwanted thoughts that penetrate him like-

The bright lights of the basement blind him as they descend to his brother's old bedroom. His thoughts continue their spiraling as he notices the singular mattress pushed to the back corner. The sheets are tangled as if used, and he glances to Clay to see his red cheeks.

“I, uh, sleep here a lot now. No memories of bad habits, you know?” He doesn’t.

“Oh, also, you can’t do drugs in here, George,” Clay lets it all out at once, as if he’d been holding it in for too long. “My mom can always tell, and I don’t want to give her the wrong idea.” That he’d relapsed. George understands, mind darkening.

He somehow hasn’t cried, to his relief. He instead shrugs and shakes off his sweatshirt and jeans, rolling into the far left side of the bed which touched the wall. He can feel Clay climbing in as the memory foam dips to support their weight. They both lay on their backs, side by side but still not touching. He can’t imagine the thoughts running through the other’s head right now, as both continue to dance around the subjects that matter most.

There is a slight rusle as Clay shifts, unintentionally brushing his arm against George’s side. Unintentionally? He looks over and catches those green eyes he could never truly see. His hand raises, almost automatically, before he catches himself and forces it down, eyes not leaving the tanner boy’s direction. Clay looks back at George, and they lock eyes, neither willing enough to turn away. Clay slightly turns so his body is angled towards George, who’s hand is again moving towards him. This time, it is not stopped as it makes contact with Clay’s jaw and slightly caresses the faint stubble he finds. 

“I don’t think I can apologize for what happened,” Clay breathes, warm air kissing George’s cheeks.

“I don’t want you to anymore,” he responds, fully turning to face Clay. Their knees touch. 

“Can I…” Clay trails off. 

Nothing is real. He is dreaming, sleeping, wishing...

He nods, and Clay’s hand flies up to the nape of George’s neck, and they’re touching lips, softly and carefully. As they slowly realize they’re the only ones who truly exist anymore, they continue to move together, bodies aligning and kissing with more meaning. He smiles slightly against the younger boy, and feels a tongue, opening his mouth to deepen the embrace. They’re now holding each other and George feels whole, his chest is beating and his arms are full of all he ever needed.

The moment of passion passes, and they cool down to light peppered kisses spread across George’s cheeks, chin, neck, jawline and back to his mouth. Nothing is said as they caress the other, hoping that loneliness wasn’t the only reason. He falls asleep first, wrapped inside a tight hug he might never enjoy a second time.

“I don’t want to argue, Clay,” George’s jaw is clamped down tight while Clay is evidently on his last nerve.

“Yeah, that’s not very apparent! I needed you to do this one thing for me, no  _ you know what _ in my house, and you blatantly-”

“What, afraid if you say its name you’ll want it again?” George fires back, eyes narrowed. He knows Clay is one more shout away from throwing him out, but all he wants is to make his blood boil, to have him  _ hurt _ and-

Clay is all over him, mouth pushing on mouth, hand reaching down to pull his shirt off as the other pulls through his hair, and he burns all over but wants it never to end. There is no innocence, no purity in the way Clay almost growls through George’s moans, his mind clear enough to want this but hazy enough to forget its repercussions.

All they seem to do was walk on eggshells around eachother, yell and then fuck quickly and without passion. Then, they’ll separate and collapse back into each other in the dark, whispering sweet nothings that aren't what either truly needed to hear. 

George always knows what Clay needs but can never word it the way he wants, never saying the soft apologies they should both exchange. This cycle repeats for about a week as they ignore each other at school, make out after hours and argue in between.

He’s never felt so miserable.

The constant frustration grates at his patience, his bullshit tolerance is at an all time low after they separate.

“I need to go shopping,” Clay shakes out of George’s arms, always avoidant of their tension. “Text me if you need anything, also talk to your parents at some point this week, please.” His parents were both aware of their son’s living situation at the current moment, but were surprisingly supportive. They’d always liked Clay’s mother, but would undoubtedly make him return home if they knew she was absent.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” George muttered, voice cracked from previous affairs.

“I don’t know, you seemed to like it a minute ago…”

“Don’t, I’m not up for that again.” He yawns, stretching back on their rumpled bed sheets, trying to avoid the less clean spots.

“Isn’t it kind of fucked up we immediately assume that…” Clay looks away, cringing slightly. George knows he hates this, and that’s the only reason he says his next line, unprompted.

“Let’s talk, then.”

“Oh, so you want to talk,” Clay’s eyes narrow, but he sits on the bed anyways. They’re both silent.

George knows he should begin, but every line he wants to start with makes his face burn with unshed tears.

“Uhh, Marie never cared when I’d smoke with her friends or something… so I never really slowed down? One of them hooked me up with a new guy who sells it for homework, so I basically get it free…” George looks down, unsure how to continue.

“My coach found out and kicked me off the football team, which I guess you know, and my mom obviously heard and sent me off for 8 weeks... “ Clay fills the silence, staring at the wall. “It was a place for all the crazy people, they had us do exercises and shit to work out our feelings. I met a kid there, Nick, he’s in 9th grade. Tried to kill himself for reasons related to heroin, and I kinda decided it would be a shitty choice to make, to keep, you know, after I get out of rehab. Does that make sense?” He looks at George, who nods. “That's why I, uh, yelled at you like I did when we met again. I wanted to show you how it felt in there, to make you realize what I did, but I probably went at it wrong.”

George laughs lightly, “Yeah, you did. I sort of, did it more after that because I was so mad, then didn’t want to slow down. My parents don’t know, and if they do then they just don’t care. It’s easier to deal with them when I’m high, sometimes I even forget what they’re telling me.” He moves slightly closer to Clay, suddenly hoping for some sort of affection. Hands immediately begin to wrap around him and he is not disappointed, pressing his head against Clay’s chest and looking into his eyes.

“What do they look like?” George can feel his breath against his nose and blushes, wanting Clay like never before. 

“They look a little like piss, a little like the ocean,” George grins slyly, rewarded by a chuckle and a warm kiss on the forehead. George whines, shimmying around in Clay’s arms until they’re both chest to chest, with him on top.

“I don’t want to feel sad like that, anymore,” He murmurs, lightly pecking Clay’s lips before ducking out of reach. Clay giggles, trying to keep him still as they begin to play fight.

“I don’t want to miss you, anymore,” Clay responds, securing George’s hands by his side and kissing George firmly, leaving them both slightly breathless. 

“I also have a slight confession for you,” Clay manages to both look shy and flirty as he pulls slightly away. “I might have… written that song about you at that party…” 

George smiles lightly, “I might have noticed. Who knew you were so jealous?”

“Oh, you…” they begin to tackle again, with Clay gaining the upper hand this time. 

“I always knew…”  _ giggle  _ “that you wanted a”  _ gasp  _ “piece of this ass…” George stuttered between fighting.

Clay nibbles his ear, “Stop projecting.” They both laugh, starting to calm down.

“Can we just, stay for a while…” George says quietly, wrapping his arms around Clay’s body. “Let's keep talking.. Maybe it's time we figure us out.”

Clay grins, rolling George over to lightly spoon him. “I’d like nothing more.”

**Author's Note:**

> this one really ran away from me while i was writing :3 also mad respect for people who write like, 15000 word long one shots, i was here dying trying to write a measly 4000 word count ;(
> 
> critiques/comments below please!!


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